


Know That I Loved You

by FullmetalChords



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick, after the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know That I Loved You

The damnable rain kept falling, all the way out of the desert. Basilio had brought the Shepherds – tired, damp, defeated as they were – to an abandoned fortress on the Feroxi border. Once they’d established sentries, found water, set up barracks, all the basics of establishing camp… only then did the Shepherds disperse, one by one, to mourn their fallen Exalt.

Chrom holed up with the khans and his tactician to plan their next assault, his eyes hard and gleaming from his desire for revenge. Lissa went through the healing wards to aid wounded soldiers, clutching one of Maribelle’s handkerchiefs in one hand as she moved from bed to bed with her staff.

Frederick mended tents.

He had no choice, really. The rain that had begun in the desert had carried into a third day, still falling in a steady drizzle from ashen skies. They’d be on the march again before long; how well would any of the Shepherds be able to fight, if they had to sleep beneath leaky canvas in the middle of a war? If milord or milady caught a chill… if either of them so much as started to sniffle…

_“Chrom and Lissa are blessed to have so tireless a guardian. I do hope they remember to mention that sometimes.”_

The memory flashed brightly in his mind – he could almost see her golden hair shining in the sun of Ylisstol’s throne room as she smiled down at him. Such a mundane occurrence, one of hundreds of identical meetings, but it jolted him all the same. His needle veered off its steady course through blue canvas right into the pad of his thumb.

“Gods bless it,” he hissed, dropping his sewing into his lap as he brought his finger to his lips. The throbbing of his finger, the taste of copper on his tongue, all helped ground him in the here and now, distractions from the shadow over him.

That shadow hung over them all, he reminded himself yet again, shaking off the momentary pain and taking up the thread once more. Chrom was up at odd hours, swinging Falchion at practice dummies with a ferocity he’d never once showed in training. Lissa was never more than an arm’s length away from Maribelle as they tended the wards together, and Frederick had seen them, more than once, huddled in a corner somewhere, the princess curled in her best friend’s lap as she wept. Their new priest was always busy consoling someone, the tactician’s brow was permanently furrowed as she reviewed and re-reviewed their strategy for that fateful battle, trying to find her mistake… and Frederick hadn’t even _seen_ Cordelia since they’d left the Plegian capital. He presumed she’d gone on her own somewhere, to privately mourn Phila and the rest of her sisters.

The entire army would fall apart without at least someone keeping things together, Frederick reminded himself as he tied off his work, performing a final inspection on Sumia’s tent before moving onto Kellam’s. He wasn’t immune from the gloom infecting the others. In the rare idle moments he’d allowed himself since arriving at this fortress, he could feel it picking away at the walls he’d built for himself, looking for a place to curl inside his heart. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t _matter_. He’d always been the rock for their little ragtag army, the one everyone looked up to, the one everyone relied on. He was their strongest warrior. How could he be anything _but_ strong now, when everyone around him was falling apart?

How could he think of neglecting even one of his knightly duties now, when he’d given Emmeryn his solemn word, the last time they’d spoken, that he would protect her brother and sister?

He continued his patchwork late into the night, hunched over by the fire, and barely noticed when the flames had cooled to embers.

 

\---

 

“Gods, Frederick, you look terrible.”

Frederick paused in his daily report, his brow furrowing. “Milord?”

“Worse than Robin,” Chrom nodded, getting to his feet and crossing the tent to survey him more closely. Their army had left the Feroxi fortress a few days before, beginning their final march into the desert. Toward Gangrel. “She’s barely sleeping, trying to plan this final assault on Plegia. Don’t tell me you’ve been up all night picking up pebbles?”

“Of course not, milord,” Frederick said smoothly, still standing at parade rest. He’d really been up all night doing inventory, counting and recounting the number of potatoes in the larder. It wouldn’t have done for the army to be malnourished, now of all times.

Chrom was still scrutinizing him, blue eyes narrow under his mop of dark hair.

“I know it’s your duty to take care of us,” he said, and it startled Frederick to hear Chrom sound so… sympathetic, so different from the brash young man he knew so well. “Lissa and I are grateful for it. But… gods above, you’re taking it way too far these days!”

Frederick didn’t know what to say. Panic welled up inside him, threatening to overwhelm him. All he’d wanted to do – all he’d ever been good for – was taking care of these two headstrong royal children. He’d _promised_ her, back in the mountain pass, that he would continue fulfilling this duty to his last breath, and— gods, he’d let her down _again_ …

“H-have I displeased you somehow, sire?”

“Well, I didn’t love those posters you had made,” Chrom grumbled. Frederick wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then—ah, yes, the recruitment posters. It seemed like a story he’d read long ago and half-forgotten, a part of someone else’s lifetime. “But I’ve seen you, you know, running around camp at all hours, doing gods know what.”

“My duties as a knight, you mean,” Frederick said, his hands clenching into fists behind his back. What had he done wrong? Why was Chrom so unhappy with his service? Had he missed a single rip when repairing the prince’s tent? Had he brought back the wrong kind of firewood? Had he—gods, the armory. That damned glass sword. It had shattered on the road, only one good hit away from breaking anyway, but Frederick was _sure_ he’d disposed of every shard so Chrom wouldn’t cut himself…

“I’m _worried_ about you, Frederick!”

He broke away from his mental tally. “What?” He was so surprised he’d forgotten his station. “Milord,” he began again, “I…”

“I mean,” Chrom went on, raking his hands through his hair in an old nervous habit, “all of us are. Me, and Lissa, all the Shepherds. You’re pale as a sheet, there are bags under your eyes, I can’t remember the last time I saw you eat…” Chrom let out an impatient huff of breath. “I just… I know you’re dedicated, it’s your nature, but you’re running yourself ragged. It can’t be good for you. Least, that’s what you always tell me.”

Frederick was at a loss for words. He’d never meant for his strain to show through to the others, especially not his charges. They had so much to worry about already, having lost their sister, without having to be burdened by him…

_“You could never be a burden to me, Frederick.”_

That look in her clear gray eyes, convincing him she spoke the truth. Her warm hand, resting atop his as they sat together in her private chamber. He and Emmeryn had met, at first, so Frederick could give personal updates on how Chrom and Lissa were growing as Shepherds. But before long, it had become a regular occurrence, the two of them enjoying brief respites from their respective duties together.

How many times had they had tea there together, over the years, to share stories, fears, hopes? How many times had she comforted and reassured him? How many times had he imagined being brave enough to take her hand first, for once, to offer her that same comfort?

Gods, why did he still _remember_?

He caught Chrom’s eye and saw, to his alarm, that he understood. He could see the reason behind Frederick’s increased protectiveness, just as plainly as both of them could see the tearstains on Lissa’s cheeks. They were some of the few Shepherds who knew Emmeryn not as a symbol of hope, or of Ylisse’s prosperity, but as a living, breathing person. They’d grown up with Emmeryn by their side, guiding them, laughing with them, celebrating birthdays and holidays with them, and now…

Now Frederick felt as though the mere act of speaking her name, even amongst themselves, would cause some further catastrophe, unsettling the precarious balance they’d found in the wake of their tragedy. He did not dare to be the first to break that silence. Perhaps he was a coward, afraid of how her name would taste now.

But Chrom, it seemed, had no such qualms. “I miss her too, Frederick,” he said, still using that strangely patient tone, “but she wouldn’t want us to—“

“If it pleases milord,” Frederick interrupted, not wanting to hear it, “I will consider a nap.”

It was pointless, now, to declare in her stead what she would or wouldn’t have wanted. Were she here, Emmeryn would doubtless be ordering Chrom to call off this march. She had never wanted this war to begin with, but it had claimed her life all the same.

Chrom’s surprise at Frederick’s interruption quickly fell to resignation. “I didn’t want to order it, but…”

“No. No need for that, sire.” He bowed stiffly, leaving Chrom’s tent before the prince could say another word.

He returned to his tent, swiftly removing his armor and lying atop his bedroll. The fact that sleep remained elusive had nothing to do with the midday heat trapped in the tent with him, nor the mental list of duties yet to be done; and everything with his thoughts of the woman he’d failed.

 

\---

 

Frederick had never much cared for the desert. His armor trapped the shimmering heat against his skin, and his horse kept sinking in the sand, nickering in displeasure with every few difficult steps. This place baked him from the inside out, his lungs filling with dry air that only served to sap his energy further.

Lissa was currently riding behind him in the saddle, enjoying the small amount of shade Frederick’s back provided her as she rested her tired feet. “Are we almost there?” she asked, and Frederick felt her forehead press lightly against his back as she slumped against him.

“Another day’s ride, milady,” came his reply, pressing his horse to go a bit faster so as to not fall too far behind the Pegasus knights. “Take care not to burn yourself on my armor.”

Lissa grumbled in reply, though he felt the weight leave his back.

“I hate the desert,” she said, and there was a bitter tone to her voice that Frederick understood all too well. “I can’t wait for all this to be over.”

Frederick reached for the waterskin in his saddlebag, uncorking it before passing it back to the princess. “Nor can I,” he admitted.

This soulless, unforgiving place, so loaded with the memories of his failure. Of her loss. Of—

_Emmeryn tipped forward on her perch, and it was all Frederick could do to hold onto Lissa, both arms holding her back even as she screamed in protest…_

_He’d tried in vain to stop Chrom, but the ends of the young prince’s cape had slipped from his grasp as he’d run ahead in a futile gesture to prevent what had already happened…_

The sun kept beating down, roasting him in his armor, and he heard a woman’s voice calling his name in the distance but it wasn’t enough to—

 _The light reflecting from her crown cast the usual golden halo over her head. It had stayed firmly in place even as she’d plummeted to the earth, though the wind whipped her curls into an undignified tangle. And still,_ still _, she’d radiated calm, had even clasped her hands before her breast in one final prayer as the ground rose up to meet her._

_Frederick could still hear that final, sickening thud that had echoed through the courtyard, rattling his very bones. Still hear Chrom’s cries of grief, drowned out by Gangrel’s mad laughter…_

“Frederick?”

The knight blinked hard, trying to erase the sight of his Exalt’s bleeding body from his mind.

“Milady.”

Lissa reached under his armor to prod him in the side. “I was trying to give back the water. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Frederick said automatically. “Yes, quite, milady.” He fumbled behind him to take the waterskin back, gulping a few drops before re-stoppering it and tucking it back away. He didn’t want to drink too much and leave Lady Lissa without enough water later in the afternoon, when the sun was sure to be at its most intense.

There was silence for a moment, then Lissa said, quietly, “We stopped moving.”

Frederick looked up to find that, indeed, his horse had come to a standstill in his distraction. A few hundred yards ahead, he could just make out the backs of the other Shepherds who had all pushed past them.

“My apologies,” he said, coaxing his horse to move again, working the animal to whatever passed for a trot in the sand. Inwardly, he was berating himself. He couldn’t allow himself to get so distracted again. What if he’d frozen in the midst of a battle? What would have happened to Lissa then?

But he was too weak to stop remembering the horror of a few days ago, no more able to put it from his mind than he could keep this dry desert air out of his lungs. The taste of the Plegian desert, of dust and blood in the wind, might as well have transported him back in time to that day in the courtyard, reminding him of just how powerless he had been to save the person who meant the most to him.

Lissa’s hands still rested at his sides, and he thought he could feel her hold onto him just a little tighter. “It’s okay, Frederick,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

“Yes, milady,” he agreed vaguely, pressing onward before he could become mired down again.

 

\---

 

It did not feel like victory.

The blood of Gangrel’s last lieutenants soaked into the sand, staining the desert that terrible brown color Frederick had come to associate with this war. And the corpse of the Mad King himself lay only a short distance from Frederick’s horse, its hand stiff from where it had clutched the Levin sword in Gangrel’s last seconds of life.

Frederick stared into Gangrel’s face, contorted in death. He’d wondered, when picturing this moment, if he would feel any kind of vindication. As though this one man’s death could somehow undo hers.

He felt no such thing.

Adrenaline alone had kept him fighting during this final battle, his senses working on overdrive as he stayed near Chrom’s side, thrusting his lance into half a dozen enemy soldiers as he worked to protect the prince. Now… now that the war was finally over, he was more than drained. Nothing was keeping him upright but the remains of his once-formidable will.

The others had already moved off of the battlefield, but Frederick found himself dismounting to wander deeper. He picked idly through the remains of old enemy fortifications as though there might be anything useful kept there, some lost weapon or tonic. Really, he was just looking for a reason to be alone. He’d hardly had a moment’s peace since his talk with Chrom a few days earlier. Someone had always come to help him carry firewood, to hang the prince and princess’s laundry, to clear brush from the new training ground or perform maintenance on the army’s ever-growing weapons stockpile. He highly suspected that Chrom had given an order behind his back. _Don’t leave Frederick alone._

Maybe he should have felt grateful for his charge’s concern. Maybe he should have felt irritated, or ashamed, that he was apparently no longer trusted to handle even himself.

He only felt tired. Tired of fighting this war, tired of fighting his own feelings. Tired of carrying the weight of his failures. Tired of letting down everyone around him. Frederick wanted nothing more than to set everything down and rest.

But there was no relief to be had anywhere.

He straightened from where he’d been examining the area around an empty chest, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow. The air was beginning to feel thick and soupy around him, making it even more difficult to breathe and move. Perhaps he ought to get back, after all. He’d been away for nearly half an hour, and—

He caught sight of something familiar on the skyline and his heart stopped.

She was there. Her image was flickering on the wind, and she’d lost her crown, but he could _see_ her, every curl in place and smiling at him as kindly as she ever had.

“This isn’t real,” he said to himself, his voice a dry croak in his throat. Miriel had spoken about mirages, the way the desert could play tricks on tired minds – but he took a few steps forward regardless, needing to get closer. “I saw… saw you…”

Her body falling through the air. Her blood staining Gangrel’s courtyard.

But here she was, her gray eyes fixed on him, and Frederick found continuing forward, even though his steps seemed to bring him no closer to her.

“I kept my promise,” were the first words out of his mouth, his feet dragging in the sand as he tried to get closer. Something wet was running down his cheek, and even he was not sure if it was sweat or tears. “Your brother and sister… I kept them both alive, through this war…”

She made no response. She did not even seem to hear him. But she held out her hand, silently asking him to take it, and he extended his own arm, trying to touch her.

“Emmeryn,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “Forgive me…”

He should have been with her when she’d been kidnapped in Ylisstol. He should have fought her attackers personally, not stopping until every last one was dead and she was safe, where she belonged. He would have fought for her with every last breath in his body, just as he’d vowed to do for her a decade ago when she’d first knighted him. He should have been by her side until the very end.

But instead, when she had been taken, he had been far away with two young charges who, increasingly, had no need of him. Chrom and Lissa were growing up. And there would come a day when he could no longer protect them from anything. He had already allowed pain to befall them by not saving their older sister.

His strength was beginning to fail, unable to endure his exhaustion, the heat, the weight of his armor, the weight in his heart. He stumbled once more, landing on his knees before the mirage. Emmeryn was made of light, swaying on the breeze like a reed, and he found he could not focus on her.

 _Frederick._ Was it her true voice, or an echo in his mind? Would there come a day when he could no longer remember the sound of Emmeryn’s voice? _Frederick. Get up._

Even if she was not real, he could not bear to disobey her; yet his body would not listen to his mind’s commands. He looked up into the sun, struggling to focus on her face, but it would not stop swimming before his eyes.

“My mind is playing tricks on me,” he said again, his throat dry, and his chin dropped to his chest. Droplets speckled the sand beneath him. “How cruel…”

Something brushed his hair lightly. It could have been the wind. He shut his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, shaking, and now he was sure he was crying. He was sorry that he’d failed to take care of himself. Sorry that he wasn’t strong enough to help Chrom shoulder his responsibilities, or to stop Lissa from losing people she loved. Sorry that he’d failed to save Emmeryn. Sorry that he couldn’t stop himself from crying, now that he’d finally let go.

 _Frederick._ She sounded more distant now, as though she were fading away. _Be at peace, Frederick. This was my fate._

Her fate. Echoing the words of the mysterious Marth. Frederick exhaled with a sob, leaning into her imaginary touch as grief and exhaustion came to claim him.

“I love you,” he whispered to the air, sinking to his knees again. He used to wonder if he loved Emmeryn the way a knight loves his Exalt, or the way a man loves a woman, or somewhere in between. Between his duties and hers, and the social norms that divided them, he had never been able to sort it all out. Now, he would never be able to.

But at least he had said it, even if there was no one left to listen.

The mirage his mind had constructed said nothing in response – even he could not put words so important into her mouth. But he felt something brush his cheek, some kind of wordless soothing murmur filling his ears even as he collapsed in the sand.

 

\---

 

The first thing Frederick saw when his eyes opened again was blue canvas suspended above his head.

“He’s awake!” A small hand swatted his shoulder with surprising force. “Stupid, _stupid_ Frederick! What were you thinking, staying behind like that?!”

“Sully and Stahl found you passed out in the desert,” Chrom added from his other side, sounding stern. “If they hadn’t gotten you back in time…”

The knight stirred, taking stock of his surroundings. He’d been brought back to his own tent and stripped of his heavy armor; his clothing still stuck to his skin from the desert heat he’d endured. He started to get up almost absentmindedly, wanting a clean shirt, but Lissa stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Oh no, mister, you stay right where you are. Libra says you’ve got heat exhaustion, and you’re really dehydrated besides.” She reached up to adjust something on Frederick’s head, and it was only then that he realized the weight he felt there was a cool cloth. “But don’t you worry. You’ll be back in top form before you know it! We’ll both make sure of that.”

She passed him a full waterskin, helping Frederick raise his head a little so he could drink. The cool water passing over his tongue felt like the greatest blessing.

“What in Naga’s name were you doing out there, anyway?” Chrom demanded.

It was a question with no easy answer, and Frederick took his time trying to figure out what to say. How could he tell these two children that he was going mad, unable to move on from their sister’s death? How could he show them how vulnerable he was when he was supposed to be the one protecting _them?_

He reached up to feel his face, the puffiness under his eyes. Remembered her imagined hand on his cheek.

“I was… chasing a ghost,” he finally murmured.

Chrom’s anger and Lissa’s overprotectiveness vanished at his words, and the two siblings exchanged a glance over his head. It was plain enough to Frederick that both of them understood his meaning.

“Frederick…” Lissa murmured. He could see the princess’s eyes welling up, but she held herself back.

“It is… deplorable of me,” Frederick went on, choosing his words carefully. “Being so selfish.”

“I don’t care about that!” Lissa shook her head fiercely, pigtails swaying. “Frederick, you’re only human. We… we miss Emm, but of course you miss her too. It’s okay.”

Chrom, meanwhile, was silent. Frederick turned to the prince – his Exalt now, he realized with a small jolt.

“Forgive me, milord,” he said, bowing his head as best he could from his prone position. “My… misbehavior… shan’t happen again. This, I vow.”

Chrom bit his lip, nodding to indicate he understood, but…

“Do you wish she hadn’t done it?” he blurted. “Emm… I mean… if she’d made a different choice…”

The question cut Frederick to his core. Emmeryn had sacrificed her life for the good of her people. In that terrible situation, it had been the only way she could bring the peace she’d always longed for to the ones she loved. Did his refusal to accept her choice, replaying that moment over and over as if it could somehow change that outcome, make him disloyal, somehow?

He looked into Chrom’s face, and realized the young man had been asking himself that same question, finding no satisfactory answer.

“I cannot say,” Frederick finally said. “I… I only wish she were still here.” He felt the lump return to his throat, and he took another slow drink of water to cover it.

He felt Chrom squeeze his shoulder. “Me too,” he said. “I… we…” Chrom wiped quickly at his eyes. “We’ll make her proud, Frederick,” he said, nodding fiercely. “All three of us.”

“Right,” Lissa added, grabbing Frederick’s free hand. “The war’s over now. It’s up to us to keep the peace for her.”

Both of them had grown so much, Frederick reflected. How much of it had happened in the last week, and how much had occurred right before his eyes?

Frederick squeezed his eyes shut tight, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes,” he agreed, giving Lissa’s hand a squeeze and turning to look Chrom in the face. “We mustn’t falter. _I_ will not falter again.”

The road ahead of them would be long, and there were difficulties ahead Frederick could not yet see, but he would not allow himself to be filled with despair again.

His love for Emmeryn and her family would sustain him.

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not need clarification, but Frederick's "vision" in the desert actually was a mirage, not half-recovered post-fall Emm. Grief and nascent heat stroke do weird things to people. 
> 
> So, yes, I'm Frederick/Emmeryn trash. Where are their support conversations? What am I supposed to do with all my _feelings_?


End file.
